


According to Plan

by CannibaLilly



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Sex Talk, crack!fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-04
Updated: 2017-02-04
Packaged: 2018-09-22 01:40:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9576170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CannibaLilly/pseuds/CannibaLilly
Summary: The Doctor finally decides to act on his feelings for the Master.The Master has a problem.Crack!fic-ish.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Maaiika](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maaiika/gifts).



One of the reasons why the Doctor was still alive after so many decades of wandering the galaxy, was his talent for making plans. If there was a plot to plot or a scheme to scheme, he was usually the best Time Lord for the job. That was why he, more than anyone, was disappointed about how long it had taken him to come up with _this_ plan.

 

And this particular plan wasn't even that good, he had to admit to himself. There was a lot of hoping for the right responses at the right moment involved, but after spending two months abroad the TARDIS with the Master, he had to take what he could get. Actually he was surprised that the Master hadn't managed to escape, before he could put his plan into action.

 

As not to waste any more time, the Doctor finally stepped into action. They were in the library after a rather exhausting day out on some space colony the Doctor had already forgotten the name of. He cleared his throat.

 

„What are you reading?“

 

The Master gave a non-committal shrug. The Doctor frowned. For a moment he watched the Master's eyes darting back and forth over the page before he finally lowered the book a little and said: „Something on four-dimensional wormhole engines.“

 

Now that he said it, the Doctor recognised the book. He had never finished it. „Merely theoretical stuff,“ he said, which translated to: 'Utter gibberish.'

 

„Not in my hands,“ the Master replied and marked something on a page with a ball pen. „I majored in wormhole technology, if you care to remember. If _someone_ hadn't decided to blow up Gallifrey's entire technology, I could build one of these in,“ he pretended to calculate the data, „two and a half weeks.“

 

The Doctor shot him a sceptical look, but when the Master gave no sign of joking the look turned reluctantly impressed. You could say what you wanted against the Master, but he was a genius. As unfortunate as this was for the galaxy and the Doctor most of the time.

 

„Well, considering what you did with the paradox machine and my TARDIS, I'd say you're handling that lack of technology rather well,“ the Doctor replied.

 

The Master grinned. Obviously he had misinterpreted the Doctor's words for a compliment of his skill rather than a reproach for butchering one of the last Time Lord ships in the galaxy. „I get bored“, he said, „I need something to work on, or I get frustrated and then I need to take my frustration out on something. Or someone,“ he added with a smirk that was supposed to look menacing.

 

By the time the Doctor answered, the Master had already dived back into his book. „How about me?“

 

This time, the Master did not take the time to finish the page. Instead he glanced up almost instantly, a frown on his face. „Pardon?“

 

„I was asking,“ the Doctor repeated with only the faintest hint of a blush, „if you want to take it out on me.“ And because that only made the Master's frown deepen he added, as nonchalant as possible, „I get bored, too, you know?“

 

Very carefully, the Master put the tag into his book and put it down. Then he asked, very slowly, „What?“

 

As usual when the Doctor's plans started going askew – and every one of them started to at some point – he ignored the alarm sirens in his mind and went right on. He pretended to be focused on his book (he didn't even know what it was about; Rassilon, was he even holding it the right way up?) and said, „it was just an idea. It's not like we never have.“

 

„No, but that was at the academy,“ the Master said and the Doctor could have sworn he sounded slightly nervous.

 

„So?“

 

„So?!“ The Master turned to the Doctor and pulled the book out of his hands, ending the Doctor's reading-charade.

 

„Oy,“ he complained, half-heartedly, as if he had actually wanted to finish it.

 

„We were different people back then. Younger. Less...,“ he made a circling motion with his hands around each other. „Twisted. Complicated.“

 

„It's just a shag I'm proposing. Not leasing a car together,“ the Doctor replied with the same cool distance he put up when around him people were panicking while all the screens flashed bright red and an electronic, female voice announced that they would only have another five seconds until certain death.

 

The Master's face was pulled into a grimace. He was surprised by the Doctor's direct proposal, so far so predictable, but there was something else too... Was it frustration?

 

„Who does that?“ he spat. „Just proposing a shag to the guy they've known for 900-something years?!“

 

The Doctor shrugged. „You do. All the time for the past 900-something years.“

 

„And you usually say 'no'!“ the Master replied, his voice definitely rising in volume. „This is supposed to be your text, not mine! I should be the one rubbing myself on you.“

 

„Go ahead then,“ the Doctor said, surprised by his own boldness, but not caring at the same time. Screw 900 years of decency, screw twisted and complicated, he had wanted this for decades and now, with Gallifrey destructed, he was finally ready to try and get it, before another war took this chance away as well.

 

The Master pushed himself back and yes, it was definitely frustration showing on his face. Just why?

 

„I don't get you,“ the Doctor said, finally allowing himself to admit that his plan looked like it was about to fail. „It's not like I'm asking something entirely out of the question. We shagged before, what's different this time?“

 

The Master crossed his arms. Was he _pouting_?!

 

„Can't get it up in your old age?“

 

The Master glared at him.

 

„What then?“ the Doctor wanted to know. He might as well mock the truth out of his old enemy if he had to. „Don't tell me you've got a _really_ small dick this time around?“

 

„You wish,“ the Master replied sourly. „Ask Lucy if you don't believe me.“

 

„Fine. What is it then? My regeneration doesn't appeal to you?“ The Doctor had meant to make a joke but something had crossed the Master's face that made his insides feel rather heavy. „What?“ he dug deeper. „I'm not your type? Of all the regenerations I've had! The horrible curls! The lettuce jacket! You were drooling all over them and _this_ one doesn't do the trick for you?!“

 

The Master wasn't looking at the Doctor. Instead his eyes were fixed on a patch of carpet at which he glared with fury. „What is it?“ the Doctor asked, miffed. „The pinstripes? The side burns?“

 

The Master mumbled something.

 

„What? What is it? Are you straight this time around?“

 

Nothing. The Master said nothing and the Doctor's eyes widened. „Oh, come on!“

 

„I can't help it!“ the Master suddenly snapped.

 

„I can't believe it,“ the Doctor sank back into the couch. „Of all the times you could have turned out straight. All the centuries I ignored you and now, _now_ you decide you want to limit your sexuality like that?“

 

„As if I'd decided to do this!“ the Master snarled. „I've planned this moment for centuries! How I'd make you beg and writhe beneath me. Oh, I would have made you say my name. Scream it.“

 

Hopeful, the Doctor cocked an eyebrow at him. The Master noticed his look and pulled a face. „But as I said. Not interested right now. In the whole screaming part, sure, but the rest?“ He shook his head. „If I killed you, maybe you'd come back as a chick this time?“

 

„Or we kill you and knock on wood you come back gay. Or at least pansexual. You're not pan? Not even a little bi? Maybe it'd help if we snogged.“

 

„Nope,“ the Master said and both of them sighed. „Looks like the next couple of decades are gonna be boring,“ the Doctor said. „What do we do without the sexual tension? I don't think being tied up will feel the same without you practically dry-humping the handcuffs.“

 

The Master snorted. „As if you didn't get off on it as well. None of my other enemies are that easy to cuff, but you? You're simply gagging for it.“

 

„You've got other enemies beside me?“ the Doctor asked, not able to keep the annoyance from seeping into his voice. „Any 'chicks' among them, as you're so fond of them now?“

 

„Some, but nothing serious,“ the Master replied and once more both Time Lords sighed. „We could go back to fencing? Postpone the more metaphorical sword fighting for later?“

 

The Doctor shrugged. „Guess there's nothing else we can do. And who knows? Maybe we get lucky and you trip and fall into my dagger.“

 

„I never know if you mean this kind of things literally or metaphorically.“

 

„This way or that, the outcome will hopefully be the same.“

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a stupid head-canon my gf & I got some time ago.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it :D As always, feedback is appreciated


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